Agent of the Shadows: The Tale of Kaviris Mstravos
by SinweaverX
Summary: An impoverished Dunmer born and raised in the Gray Quarter of Windhelm would grow to become a notorious thief, until one hiest that went wrong sent him on a race across the province to freedom in Cyrodil, where fate would lead him into an Imperial ambush.
1. Chapter 1

The Life and Times of a Dunmer in Windhelm

Kaviris Mstravos was a Dunmer of 26 winters; a number that he himself is all too familiar with, as the notoriously bitter blizzards of Eastmarch nearly claimed his life on more than one occasion. Life in Windhelm is generally comfortable for its citizens…excluding the Dunmer. For you see, nearly 200 years ago, an event known as the Red Year was heralded in by the massive eruption of Red Mountain, causing the destruction of the Dunmeri homeland of Morrowind. A mass migration was sparked and the surviving Dunmer from the northern reaches of the Morrowind began to trickle into the neighboring lands of Skyrim (which remained generally unaffected from the cataclysm) stopping at the first city they stumbled upon, Windhelm. Kaviris's grandparents were members of this migration.

For the most part, the Nords of Skyrim are a warm and honor-bound people, but there are always those outliers. The inhabitants of the eastern holds of Skyrim still bear the memories of the ancient wars with the inhabitants of Morrowind all the way back to the time of the Dwemer in the First Era. Due to this, these backwards Nords still harbor a pointless intolerance towards the Dunmer, and while the refugees were allowed to settle within the stone walls of Windhelm, they were not met with open arms. These Dunmer were forced to live in the squandered and cramped underbelly of the city of which is now known as the "Grey Quarter"

Life in the Grey Quarter is raunch with danger. Some of the luckier inhabitants were able to acquire dilapidated shanties providing a poor barrier to the freezing winds that permeate the city at nearly all times of the year; others, like Kaviris, weren't as lucky, and were truly blessed by the Divines merely if they found enough food to survive though the week, shelter of any sort was almost out of the question. However climate was insignificant compared to the other forces at work in the Grey Quarter. Kaviris's childhood would be filled with sights of theft, murder, and vice; all of which would influence our protagonist in his adult years. Bearing witness to his parent's homicide by a Nord gang (no doubt due to not paying some debt on time), he would soon embrace the shadows as his greatest ally, as the shadows themselves were the only thing shielding him from joining his parents fate; truly Nocturnal was on his side.

Now an orphan and left with only what remained of his old shanty after it was set ablaze, Kaviris would be forced resort to his skills of stealth to obtain what he needed, stealing what food he could to just remain alive. However with age, the mer grew ambitious and vengeful, and would soon turn to profit from others losses, pulling off numerous heists within the wealthier homes if the city. His ambition would eventually lead to his downfall, as poorly planned heist in 4E 201 would seem lead to an ill-timed doom.


	2. Chapter 2

A Baptism in Fire: Excerpts from the Journal of Kaviris Mstravos

**13th of Last Seed, 4E 201**

Blast it, Blast it, Blast it, Blast it! Why did those scum sucking Shatter-Shields have to hire a guard! It seemed like such a simple heist too... With its haul I could buy myself enough mead to last me through an ERA! But because of that damned guard, I'm now half way across this damned province with his damned blood on my damned hands! GAHH! Oh, and if you didn't assume already, I'm what you would called a wanted man, IN ALL NINE HOLDS! Those aristocrats have a way of getting word around. At least here near Whiterun I'm not freezing my piece off. By Nocturnal, I'd give anything for a nice fire and a tall flagon of mead right now...But anyways; it appears I'm merely a day or twos walk from the Cyrodillic border. Sure the Shatter-Shields have influence here in Skyrim, but in Cyrodill? I'm pretty sure those Imperials haven't even heard of Windhelm, nether less the name of that measly clan. All I have to do is lay low for a month or two and I'm a free Mer! Plus, I've heard rumors that the Thieves Guild is still notorious in the province, compared to those sniveling whelps back in Riften. I think I'm going to like it there.

**15th of Last Seed, 4E 201**

Sometimes I swear the gods have some sick desire to see me destroyed…A mere 3 miles from the border and what do I see? An entire LEIGON of Imperial Soldiers camped out by the damn path. Headed to Solitude to reinforce the garrison no doubt. Normally I'd be rooting for the guys, all for their cause to crush Ulfric and his army; but nowadays these soldiers are paranoid. I guess this rebellion piled upon the ever-present Thalmor threat (damned jaundice-skinned bastards) is nearly too much for the Empire to handle, shame. No doubt if I'd come anywhere near them they'd slap me in irons, declaring me a Stormcloak spy of some sort. Not that my current situation with the law puts me in a good position in the first place. But like that bastard Ulfric would let a Dunmer in his army after the atrocities he committed back home in Windhelm? Sometimes I would what side I'm even on…Oh well, I suppose in a day or two the legion will be cleared off. I'll just sit back and enjoy the scenery for a bit, perhaps search for some alchemy reagents. You never know when you need a good poison to paralyze a guard for a quick escape…or to kill one to make a point.

**17th of Last Seed, 4E 201**

Damn Legion patrols have me skittish as a deer! 5 in the past hour are WAY too many for mere coincidence; something's amiss. What could foster up so much Imperial presence here in the first place? I mean, by Nocturnal, we're at least 3 hours from any civilization besides any bandit camps, and the only noteworthy location out here is the lone gate set on the border of Cyrodill.

2 Hours Later

That noise…no mistaking it, that's the thunder of horses at gallop, I…I think that those Imperials found what..or who they're looking for; and whoever they are seem to be headed right in my direction. Looks like a confrontation will be eminent…Shadow guide me.

**17th of Last Seed, 4E 201**

Praise Nocturnal! By either some fluke or by a ridiculous amount of luck I've managed to escape my captors, although now I am lost within the wilds of Skyrim. I see a lake to the north, perhaps some sort of settlement is nearby; I'll make haste for it tomorrow...but, more importantly, captors you might ask? Such a notorious and dashing rouge such as I could be restrained by mere irons? Not for long! As the roar of the horses grew ever closer, I finally got a glimpse at the scene. A band of horsemen were in a chase, with an Imperial scouting party nipping at their heels. I quickly thought to myself, I needed to move if I didn't want to get trampled. In nearly an instant I was back at my camp, a quaint little spot butting up to a large efface of rock. As fate would have it would have it, those damn horsemen followed in my footsteps, resulting in all of use being cornered by the approaching Imperials, a SOUND tactical move if you ask me! And who might these horsemen be? Damn Stormcloak soldiers. Fuckers, I would have skinned them all alive if it wasn't for the charging Imperials a stone's throw away; bolstered with reinforcements from the nearby legion might I add! I drew my sword and readied myself…I couldn't believe I was going to aid the Stormcloaks at first, but an arrow whizzing past and ricocheting off the gray-blue stone behind quickly solidified my decision. Times like those make me wonder what the gods have planned for me, but oh well, Masser and Secunda are nearly at their highest, and my eyes are weighing down heavily. I'll finish the story tomorrow, now I rest.

**18th of Last Seed, 4E 201**

After an hour's walk however I finally made my way to the distant lake, and upon setting my eyes upon it, I instantly regained my coordinates. For the lake in suspect was Lake Ilinalta, in which the White River which runs past my very home town of Windhelm, flows forth from. If memory serves, there should be a settlement upstream, Riverwood I think. Travel will be slow due to myself being unarmed, being out at night is near suicide, and if I'm correct about those clouds in the distance, a rainstorm would just add on to the delay in my journey.

So, surrounded by Imperial soldiers and with my back up against a cliff face, I was faced with only one option; to fight along Ulfric's bastards. Removing my steel blade from it's sheath worn on my left hip, I turned to face my first opponent, a legionnaire clad in the standard studded leather uniform. A quick riposte left him giving his amends to his gods. Quickly surveying the scene, I spotted a mix of red and blue uniforms dirtying the lush forest undergrowth. The deaths were equal on both sides, but the Legion overwhelmed the Stormcloaks in regards to numbers.

Again I leaped back into the fray. Parrying a swipe from a short but stout Imperial blade, I lashed back with a stab from the dagger worn on my opposite hip. The stab landed its mark slightly above the legionnaire's leg, and left the auburn haired Nord in a crippled kneel; there would be no further use combatting him. A dueling Stormcloak and Imperial were locked in an embrace of steel to my right. The Imperial held the clear advantage and has already made his mark on the Stormcloak, giving him a cruel gash across his shield-bearing harm. Now fundamentally defenseless, the Stormcloak was on the retreat, backing away from his foe whilst parrying the multiple blows. The lead-brained Nord however failed to realize he was heading right towards me…I'm not sure exactly how it occurred, but while being crushed by 250 pounds of pure Nord, my weapons were knocked out of my hands. Shoving the dead bastard off of me (I guess the Legionnaire got in a fatal blow during the fall) I attempted to get back onto my feet. It was useless however, as my blade was just out of arms reach, while the tip of the Imperial's was lingering dangerously close (speaking of which, how do they stand those blades? Its about the same wielding a damn dagger). Staring down at the blade, I was left with no choice but to surrender. The legionnaire responded to my plea with the bash of a shield. The world went black.

Damn weather, the storm I sensed earlier finally begun to make itself known. I need to find shelter, and fast. Even in Falkreath hold, the nights are notoriously cold, and dealing with them drenched could prove deadly.

**18th of Last Seed, 4E 201**

A nearby cave was just the shelter I needed. Seems I've avoided the majority of the downpour, but its too late to travel the roads now, the predators will be out, and after the "incident" I am still without any weaponry. Anyways, back on with the tale…

I awoke in irons sprawled out in a horse drawn cart. According to the blonde Nord seated across from me, I was out for some time, but the Imperials decided to spare the remained Stormcloaks (cowards must have all surrendered shortly after I was downed) and myself in favor of a public execution, some sort of "sparing" eh?

So, I sat there, on the way to the now destroyed town of Helgen (more on that later) towards my soon to be execution. Things weren't looking good, but I still remained confident, all I needed was an opening, a diversion of some sort; and by Nocturnal did I get one. As we approached the gates, a fellow prisoner, some dirty Nord in ragged clothing, started proclaiming his innocence; stupid bastard, I was just as innocent as he was in this. It seemed that all the other prisoners felt the same, as the blonde Nord across from me babbled on about "honorable death" and a quiet brown haired Breton to my right shook her head and released a sigh. I wondered how she got captured anyways..I didn't' remember seeing her at the skirmish…but where was I? Ah!

The gates were quickly opened and the carts of prisoners (about two more trailed behind ours) were ushered through. Citizens were traveling the town's main road in a throng, no doubt to witness the execution, and legion soldiers were mounted along the battlements, in some attempt to watch for any possible Stormcloak reinforcements. After the number the legion did on the Stormcloaks at the skirmish, I doubt there would be any. One of the soldiers on the battlements piqued my interest if I remembered right, a fellow Dunmer with crimson hair seemingly flowing out of his shaped leather helmet. Red hair like that is generally an oddity among us Dunmer, a trait derived from the Ashlander tribes that used to inhabit Vvardenfell before the Red Year. But back on subject….

The carts moved past the various homes of Helgen's residents and came to a stop at a large square dominate by a looming cobblestone tower. The executioner stood ready, axe in hand, and we were ushered out of the carts. There were a lot more prisoners than I thought at first, a quick count revealed nearly 20 in total, this event would provide a lot of time for an opportunity for escape to present itself. The supposedly "innocent" Nord immediately tried to make a break for it and was subsequently made into a pincushion by Legion issued arrows; stupid bastard, he should have waited.

Before the first name was called, a graying Imperial in golden armor presented something that would surely make my era; Ulfric Stormcloack, leader of the Stormcloak rebellion would be executed in a grand finale! If only I didn't have to escape, I would have loved to watch; but my thought process was interrupted by a deafening roar that seemed to emanate from the Arethius itself. The legionnares seemed phased, but still went through with the execution. The first name was called and some cheeky Stormcloak soldier walked up to the axeman spitting a stream of insults. I couldn't help but smile as I watched his head become separated from his neck. Time however was of the essence, I must make my escape, and soon. The Imperials appeared not to waste any time, and within a moment, Marise, apparently the name of the Breton prisoner from the cart ride earlier, was called.

Slowly Marise walked to the headsman, seemingly embracing her fate, hwne the roar struck the skies again, this time closer. A smile of grim satisfaction streaked across my face, it was time…

There was…something shooting through the skies. With two mighty flaps of the monster's leathery wings, a dragon (By Nocturnal YES! A DRAGON!), with scales as black as the void itself, landed upon the roof of the nearby tower.

With a mighty bellow, flames spouted from the dragons mouth, its searing tendrils licking the ground beneath. The dragon reared up again, and this time a voice, so deep that the ground itself shook, was expelled forth carrying a single word,

"Marise"

Interested as I was in the monster's interest in the quiet Breton girl, there was my escape to commence. I ran. The falling debris of Helgen's structures did little to phase my progress, I was a Mer determined. As figured, the legionaries were too distracted with the threat of the dragon to notice the escaping Dunmer rushing past them. On the horizon I caught a glimpse of the bastard Ulfric escorted by my fellow passenger from earlier, the blond Nord…I think he said his name was Ralof or something of the sort. As tempted as I was to run Ulfric through on the spot, I sadly was weaponless, and my hands were still bound. Screams pierced the air, but I felt no pity as I raced to my goal; freedom was in sight!

So, now you know the story of my daring escape; exciting, no? Luckily for me, the irons restraining my hands were rusty with age, and broke easily upon a nearby boulder. With the events at Helgen, I'm sure my bounty has been wiped clean (and by wiped clean I mean burnt into cinders by that monsters flames). From the distance I can barely make out a set of timber gates, no doubt my assumption proved correct, Riverwood is near.


	3. Chapter 3

An "Honest" Living?

With haste, Kaviris headed to the nearest settlement yet to be reduced to rubble, Riverwood. Situated on the banks of the White River, in the warm, hospitable climate of Falkenreath hold, the village was a beautiful sight to behold for most travelers; Kaviris however had more important matters to attend to. The Dunmer needed to get back on his feet, and a good sword, a bow, and a quiver full of arrows would suit as an excellent start. Following the trail tracing the winding river made him a witness to the annual salmon spawning; his stomach growled…

"Damn…I've nearly forgotten how long its been since I've eaten."

Kaviris quickened his pace, Riverwood was only an hours walk away; but night was soon approaching, and dealing with the various nocturnal predators of Skyrim defenseless wasn't too high up on his to-do list.

A pinkish hue enveloped the surrounding landscape by the time Kaviris arrived at the large timber gates of Riverwood. The guard posted atop the battlements didn't even spare him a glance as he pried open the gates, intent on locating the nearest inn. A passing citizen so kindly donated the 20 septims needed for the room and a meal as Kaviris nonchalantly nudged him, unaware of the fact that his coin purse now lay absent.

"Such simple folk, so unaware of even the most basic of purse snatching techniques" Kaviris mused.

Riverwood was considerably smaller than Helgen, with a lone unpaved road running from gate to gate, lined with small yet sturdy wooden houses. The city's only prominent feature was a small sawmill near the south gate, which now lay abandoned for the evening. When the faint hum of music began to permeate the air, Kaviris knew the inn he most desperately longed for was near.

"'The Sleeping Giant Inn', such a strange name for such a dull place."

As he walked into the inn, Kaviris was instantly hit with the suculent aroma of grilling meats, sending his food-deprived stomach on a rampage. After finding his way through the crowd of patrons strewn throughout the tavern floor, he found himself an empty barstool. The barkeep, a dark haired Nord in clothing hardly fancier than Kaviris's prison garb, was distracted at the moment, in midst of listening to orders being barked by a fair-haired Breton woman, who no doubt was the owner of the unnoteworty establishment. Finally after what seemed to be an era, the hot-tempered Breton stormed off into one of the side rooms of the inn, leaving the barkeep to attend to customers at long last. After giving a long sigh and muttering something about a "Delphine", who must be the Breton from a moment ago, the Nord turned to Kaviris,

"Don't mind her, the damned woman is always going on about something, what can I get you elf?"

"Aren't they all?" Kaviris said with a sly grin,

"A room for the night and a mug of your finest mead." Kaviris tossed a portion of the stolen coins onto the counter.

Upon receiving payment, the dark haired Nord procured an earthenware cup and walked up to one of the massive alcohol containing barrels littered in the space behind the bar counter. A few moments later the barkeep came back with a full cup and a key.

"Black Briar's finest, the blend with the juniper berries mixed right in" he spoke, effortlessly sliding the cup to Kaviris's spot at the bar, all without spilling a drop.

"And the room?" Kaviris asked.

The Nord handed him the key.

"First door on the right."

Kaviris took the key and slid it into his pocket. The last couple of days were full of stress and danger, but bless by the gods as he was, he survived. Now, with a full cup of mead, and the warmth of the hearth, Kaviris finally felt at ease. Spending the last of the stolen gold, he ordered a nice venison chop from Orgnar (whose named he learned from casual conversation at the bar) to sate his hunger. Tomorrow would be the start of a new beginning.

* * *

><p>The housekeeping activities in the main chamber of the inn aroused Kaviris from a deep slumber. Kicking the blankets off of his body, he rose with a might stretch. Kaviris opened his door to a near empty inn, save for the resident drunk and Orgnar, who was sweeping the place.<p>

"Say Orgnar, I'm planning on staying here a few days, and I know Delphine would want me to pay my tab. Know where a mer could get some work?" Kaviris asked.

Orgnar, shivering at the mention of Delphine, paused sweeping for a moment and replied,

"Gerdur up by the mill might be looking for some help, Shor knows that little Bosmer helper of hers isn't worth a measly septim. Girl has tied back blonde hair, and is quite the looker, but don't tell her husband Hod I said that, he works up there too"

"Thanks pal, I'll be back later tonight. Don't get your hands too full with this one", Kaviris said with a chuckle, pointing to the now collapsed drunk, whose hand still gripped an empty mug.

"Aye that friend" Orgnar replied with a sigh, shaking his head.

The Dunmer has grown quite fond of that Nord's sarcastic comments. Kaviris slid out of the door, and made the trek to the town's sawmill, while, when passing the hefty, auburn haired Nord working at the forge, he took note of the fine weaponry lining the racks. Soon he'd have the money to purchase one, but for now, work needed to be done.

After resisting the urge to kick a loose chicken darting across the road (how unsanitary!), Kaviris arrived at the mill situated next to the south gate into the town and covered his ears as a giant timber was sawed in half by a saw the size of himself.

A mumbling wood elf stormed passed him, no doubt the one Ongar warned him about, carrying an arm's full of firewood. It was quite apparent that he wasn't fond of this monotonous labor. Near where the Bosmer split wood earlier stood a tall, blonde Nord woman, clad in a simple blue dress. Remembering Ongar's description, Kaviris quickly identified the woman as Gerdur, and approached,

"You, Nord, your names Gerdur right? I hear you run this mill here."

"Aye, that I do" Gerdur responded in a throaty Nordic accent,

"Some folk think I own the whole town too; but I don't. While its true that my family first settled this place, the Jarl holds that privilege. I just pay the taxes."

"Ah, how interesting" said Kaviris sarcastically, obviously not interested in small talk with the woman,

"I'm actually here for…a job of some sort, I need to get back on my feet; and by that that I mean I need weaponry, and the money to buy them. "

"I see, you're the adventuring sort then?" Said Gerdur, delicately rolling her "r's"

"I guess you can say that" Kaviris replied, it was almost humorous due to how wrong she was.

Gerdur decided to stop inquiring about the Dunmer and got back on subject,

"I think I could spare you an axe, I'll pay a fair price for any wood you split, and by Talos could I use the help" spoke Gerdur, clearly ignorant of the anti-Talos policy established by the signing of the White-Gold Concordant.

The Nord walked to a nearby table, and returned burdened by a hefty axe,

"There's chopping blocks over here and there" she spoke, pointing to two considerably sized tree stumps on opposite sides of the mill,

" Faendral's been getting lazy as of late, there should be plenty of logs piled up. You know where to go when you're ready to sell, but I need to get back to the mill. With the war raging as it is, those Imperials are trying to snatch up all the material they can" Gerdur sighed,

"Then again, I have no complaints; at least the war hasn't come to Riverwood..yet"

Kaviris remained silent, although the Nord looked like she was expecting a reply.

And with that, Gerdur left, leaving Kaviris with an axe in one hand, and a pile of logs approaching the size of a mammoth. Kaviris sighed, he though the Nord would never stop talking.

After spending some time weighing the axe in his hands to avoid over-extending himself in a swing, Kaviris picked up the first log within reach, put it on the block, and split it with a single blow. Luckily for him, life in Windhelm, namely defending against the numerous attempts on his life and fleeing from pursuing guards, made him strong; and even after a considerable stack of split wood lay to his right, he wasn't even the slightest bit winded.

The same "grab and split" monotony went on for another 4 hours or so, after which Kaviris left with his coin purse considerably heavier.

"That Nord didn't lie, 300 septims for merely a day's work, ha! It feels like I cut her purse without even doing so!" Kaviris mused, heading to the burly blacksmith he passed earlier today. The sun was low in the sky, but it was still light outside, and he hoped that the smith would still be present at the forge.

Walking the path now for the fourth time since his initial visit, he received quite a surprise. Merely a pace infront of him, heading in the opposite direction was the familiar sight of Marise, his jaw slackened,

"She's alive, that Breton is alive! But how? That monstrosity from Helgen seemed to be pursuing her exclusively!

Marise however did not seem to remember the Dunmer as she strode past, with what seemed to be both new armor and a new blade. Kaviris snapped back into reality, he wouldn't have time to converse with the girl if he wanted to make it to the smithy on time.

Kaviris approached the smith who was biding the time sharpening an axe on a grindstone, sending sparks flying out with each contact. Kaviris tapped the blacksmith on the shoulder from behind, which apparently gave him quite the shock, as he flailed about, forcing Kaviris to take a step back to avoid taking a square blow to the jaw. The Dunmer often forgot the silence in which he moved.

"Shor's bones, you gave me quite a scare there my boy!" spoke the blacksmith in a deep, rich voice.

He shot out a hand calloused by the years spent at the forge. Kaviris returned the gesture, gripping the man's hand in a firm shake,

"The name's Alvor, what can I do for ya?" the smith asked kindly.

"I need a blade, preferably steel, and a bow, for that any will do. I'll take any arrows you have lying around as well" spoke Kaviris, walking up to the rack of weaponry he saw earlier.

Tracing the rack with his finger, he stopped at a blade similar to the one he hand in mind. It was short, but it was no dagger, its grip was made of hardened leather inscribed with a design of interconnected swirls, and the blade itself; wide, double-edged, and deadly.

"Do you mind?" Kaviris asked, his fingers trembling with anticipation.

Alvor nodded his head in approval,

"Go for it"

The mer's dark-skinned hand closed shut around the leather grip as he removed the blade from its rack. A few slashes and a stab in the air later and the mer was sold. Kaviris smiled with satisfaction.

"That gem right there will cost ye a 150 septims" spoke Alvor with a grin.

Seeing Kaviris reminded the man of his youth spent adventuring the land. He now had a loving wife and daughter, and a fulfilling job as well, but it would be a lie to say he didn't miss the thrills.

"Say, I have an old hunting bow lying around here neglected, its been years since I've been on a good hunt, and about a quiver's worth of arrows. How's about I give you all three for…250 septims?"

"Sounds fair" said Kaviris, partitioning out the payment. It seemed as he would have quite a few septims left over, no thievery tonight.

Finally he would be ready to venture back out again, just one more night in Riverwood, and then its off to Riften. He wondered if his old contact Delvin Mallory still frequented the old "Ragged Flagon", and the possibility of acquiring some "real" work sent waves of excitement throughout him.

For now though, Kaviris gathered up his newly purchased weaponry, and bit the blacksmith goodbye. It felt good to have the familiar weight of a blade on his hip, and he longed to christen it in a baptism of blood. It would have to wait though, and Kaviris pushed these thoughts back as he opened the door back into the "Sleeping Giant", his home for his two day stint in Riverwood.

The resident drunk was now approaching each patron, begging desperately for the septims necessary to get his fix of booze. He soon quit the nonsense after approaching Kaviris, who with ears deaf to the man's pleas, responded by shoving the sod and sending him crashing onto the wood floor. Peace at last.

After buying his meal for the night and conversing with his new friend Orgnar, Kaviris retired to his room. It would be the last time he slept in an actual bed until he made it back to Riften, and he needed all the sleep he could to prepare himself for the journey.


End file.
